Soldier
by Arianna Holmes
Summary: TEENLOCK] Sherlock's been to too many school's to count, from fights, smart-arsing teachers, getting caught doing drugs and so on. His family isn't supportive of him, the closest thing of support is probably his brother Mycroft. He doesn't understand the affection from a boy called John, but after a while begins to need it. He wonders if this John could be his Soldier.
1. Chapter 1

_**Summary:**_

I'm laying here in the darkness. The middle of nowhere. There's no one in sight.

_Chapter 1_

"Have fun at school faggott." Harry sneered from the kitchen table, taking a bite out of an apple. John sighed and pulled the sleeve of his bag higher.  
Ever since he 'came out' to his family about being gay Harriet had been teaasing him, his parents were fine with it, thank god. But Harry, even though she's lesbian, can't seem to get over that her brother is also gay. It was rather annoying.

"Have fun getting fat at home, lesbo." He threw bag, turning to head out the door.

His mother walked out, "Now, now children." She joked, "Let's calm our farms."  
"I don't have a farm."  
"Neither." John smirked.  
"Well, whatever you have. Calm yourselves, John have fun back at school,  
don't get into trouble."  
"When do I ever get into trouble?" He pasued.  
"Your friend group does."  
"Not me."  
She came over and kissed him on the cheek, "I know, sweetie. But not all the teachers realise this."

Harry snorted and John rolled his eyes at her before turning to leave, opening the front door and closing it behind him. It was chilly, but not too bad being summer. Taking a left turn he began his twenty minute walk to school.

It was half way in that he noticed a new person among the usual kids that walk to school. He looked around his own age, with dark curls and seemingly rather tall and slim. He wondered wether to go up and introduce himself when Greg came up to him.

Too late, he thought.

"Hey John, haven't seen you in weeks!"  
"A holiday between school years would do that." John replied, falling into step beside one of his best mates.

"Yeah well, I haven't gotten to see any of you, being in Italy and all for a holiday."  
"There's such a thing as Skype."  
"Meh."

Rolling his eye's, he could see the school in the distance, "So, got anything planned? Subjects I mean, since we pick them for what we want to build on for our future job?"  
"Me? Eh, I was thinking something to do with the force, police-ish."  
"Seems legit."  
"It is."

They walked in silence for a while until, "So, what about you, eh? Still keen to be a doctor?"  
"I was actually thinking, well." John scratched the back of his neck as if embarrased, "Army doctor."  
"_Oh_ kinky."  
"What the hell, Greg?"  
"It's a joke." He laughed, "Na, that sounds epic man! How did your parents react?"  
"Haven't told them."  
"Ah, damn."

They made it through the front gates and headed to their first class which they were both in. John noticed the new kid also heading in that direction.

"Oi, Greg." John pointed out the dark haired boy, "He looks new, aye?"  
"Aye...Looks a bit of a weirdo."  
"Hm, what made you think that?"  
"Dunno."

Getting a closer look, John could see the teen was wearing black jeans and a tight, white shirt. He seemed to be making sure the sleeves were pulled by the wrist at all times, almost with a subtle urgency. His shoes were classy, but also normal looking on this certain boy, his complexion was pale, and he definently _was _tall. With a uniquely shaped face, high prominent cheekbones and stark blue eyes, he seemed rather handsome to John.

Oh god, not these thoughts again. He muttered inwardly.

He was fine with himself being gay, he supposed he just wasn't used to it yet. With the years of looking out for those "hot chicks" and now he's looking out for those "hot guys". It was a sharp direction change.

John took a seat on the metal bench connected to the wall outside the classroom, setting his bag down while he waited for the bell.  
Greg stayed standing, finding a group of friends, "I'll go sus out this guy John, get any info I can."  
"Yes sir, Detective Lestrade." John chucked his a two fingered salute and grinned as he jogged off.

Moments later the new teen took a seat at the other end of the bench, sitting up staright, still and silent. John wondered wether or not he should talk to him.

Yeah, why not.

"Uh, hey. I'm John." He tried.  
The only knowing John had that this boy even heard him was the absoluite slight flicker of his eyes.  
"Hi." Was all that was responded, throw a deep, rich, montone voice.  
"You new here?"  
"That is a correction assumption, yes." The boy didn't look at him, just kept his gaze fixed in front of him or at the ground, with a bored look on his features.  
Just with that sentence, John could tell this guy was a posh talker.

"What's ya name?"  
The boy sighed and look at him, "You want me to engage me in conversation, yes?"  
"Uh, yeah."  
"Fine. The name's Sherlock Holmes. Hello John." He held out his hand for him to shake. John hesitantly took it, shaking, before Sherlock isntantly drew it back.

Sherlock? What an oddity of a name.

"What school did you go to before this..._Sherlock_?" He rolled his name on his tongue for the first time, finding he liked it.

Sherlock scratched his forehead and rolled his eyes, "Must I name them all?"  
"A lot then?"  
"Quite."

"Do you move a lot, or?"  
"I'm not rather liked at _school_ John. I suggest you don't try to befriend me, it will save you the trouble." And with that, Sherlock didn't talk to him any more, just stayed silent and watched the kids rolling into the school with friends or alone.

John decided to keep quiet and just wait for the bell, but he couldn't help noticing Sherlock's sleeve had rolled up a little during the hand shake and scratch on the head. He noticed marks on the arm, scars and new looking ones.

Instantly he felt sorry for the kid. Emo's didn't exist in the hypocritical way that everyone assumed. He knew that for a fact when dealing with his sister and common sense. People didn't hurt themselves for the fun of it, there's always a pretty damn good reason.

And instantly John _did _want to befriend this Sherlock Holmes, he must be going through shit.

He averted his eye's just before Sherlock glanced at him and shoved his sleeve back down, but John was sure he noticed anyway.

Greg then came jogging back, taking a seat to the left of him, away from Sherlock and dropping his bag down. "I got da info, bro."  
"Well shut up, he's right there." John hissed as quietly as he could.  
"I know, I know. Calm your farm." He whispered.

"So?"  
"From what I can tell from everyone I've talked to, people have already tried to ask around. What I've gathered is he comes from a very posh, rich family that has positions in the British Government."  
"How the hell do you know that?"  
"His last name, you only have to look it up on google to know things."

"Alright, what else?"  
"People have seen self harm marks, so he's an emo."  
"There's no such thing as an emo, it's just a clothing and music style choice."  
"Fine then, he goes through shit. What the fuck ever."  
"God Greg, you're as thick as a brick sometimes."  
"I've had worse."  
"You deserve worse."

There was a moment of silence before they both cracked up laughing, the bell went and as they were still gggling slightly they gathered their bags and walked into the classroom, sitting at the back corner by the window.

Sherlock followed in after them, taking a seat at the back, in the other corner.

It would still be at least a few minites before everyone showed up, he leaned over slightly, "Sherlock."  
Sherlock glanced at him, eyebrow raised.  
"I wouldn't sit there unless you want to get a pounding, Anderson sits there."  
The boy seemed to flinch, ever so slightly at the word _pounding _but then the mask was back up. He nodded slightly, standing back up. About to ask where he should then sit. John pointed to a seat a row in front of him by the window.

Sherlock walked over, stopping for a moment and seemingly forcing out an awkward, "Thank you." Before sitting down.

Greg looked at John funny, "What's all that about?" He whispered.  
"I'm being nice, isn't that what people do to new kids?"  
"Not this one, apparently he's been to a different school every year because he smartarsed the teachers, got into fights, even wagged sometimes and got caught doing drugs."  
John raised an eyebrow, this kid seemed _nice _though. As if he really didn't even want to talk, but atleast made some sort of an effort.

"I'll decide wether or not he's a good kid myself thanks." John replied sitffly as more kids started in.  
Greg nudged him in the side, "Got the hots for him, eh?"  
"No. I'm being _nice_. Shut the fuck up."

With that Greg grinned to himself and pulled out his textbooks as the teacher walked in.

"Good morning class, welcome back to school as big Year 12's." Mr Cove smiled thinly, "Now. This being a science class, lets get started shall we?"

John took the time used for the teacher to write up things on the whiteboard and get sorted, to look about the kids. Anderson, Mike, Sally, Sarah and Molly all sat together, already mucking about.

Sherlock sat by the window, his eye's presumably scanning everything about everyone and anything subtly, there was a spare spot next to him. As if deliberatly left. This angered John slightly.

Then the teacher was talking, asking questions.

The lesson went in a startled blur as Sherlock's hand seemed always raised, his answers always spot on, and with bordem.

By the time the lesson was nearly finished, hardly anyone was raising their hand anymore.

"Right, I think it's time you headed to your next class-"  
Sherlock's hand was raised again, the teacher hesitantly nodded to him.  
"Here's some advice, next time you run a class, actually ask the proper questions, not some bullshit that toddlers could know."

The bell to switch classes was sounded and Sherlock instantly got up and stalked out of the shocked classroom. Calling out a, "Laterz!"

Greg whispered in his ear, "Told you."

'Smartarsed the teachers.'

John sniffed, if he thought him and everyone else who tried their hardest to understand were toddlers just because he was some sort of gifted rich boy, then he can get screwed.

He followed Greg out to English, not seeing Sherlock in any more of his classes for the day.

It was after school, when he had said goodbye to Greg as headed out of the gates and home that he noticed Sherlock wasn't there. I mean, he could have gone the back way, or was somehwere behind him, or even already gone. But after what he did in science, he was sure something was wrong. I mean sure, he sort of despised the kid now, but he didn't believe Sherlock deserved any kind of beating from bullies like Anderson.

He was started heading around the back where he knew Anderson's group usually hangs out, when he heard the laughs and shouts.  
Jogging slightly he made it around the corner to find Anderson, Sally and Mike cornering a uncaring looking Sherlock.

John wasn't in sight yet, he decided to listen in for a moment.  
"Think you're smart Holmes, cause you live in a big, fancy mansion?" Anderson shoved him, Sherlock merely raised an eyebrow.  
"So would that make you extermly stupid, considering you live in a tiny, rundown apartment block?"  
John held back a laugh, oh that was a burn.  
Until Anderson's face turned into that of pure hatred and slammed Sherlock into the brick wall, gripping the lapels of his shirt with bunched fists.

Sherlock, however, remained as bored as ever.

Wether or not that was just for appearances, after a day of John himself seeing how good Sherlock was at keeping a mask, it didn't matter. He was about to get his face punched in good.

He was about to run up and stop it, but he was grabbed at the shoulder. He turned around to Sarah who shook her head. "I don't like it either, but they will all go at you as well John. Just stay out of it."  
"You can't just let him be beaten to a pulp!"  
Sarah looked from the group to him again and again, "I want to help, I do. But we'll just get hurt, and that's more casulties than one. Its too dangerous."

Something in that sentence made John's blood boil, especially when he heard the sickening crack of a fist connecting with the jawbone, following by a pained grunt and then a low groan as a violent kick was sent into a stomach. John whirled as a knee was smashed into Sherlock's forehead and he dropped to the ground, Anderson spat on him, planning for another kick when John ran up.

"Alright, Anderson. That's bloody enough." John held up his hands, standing in front of Sherlock.  
"Protective, are you?"  
"No, I just don't think he really deserves to be beaten to death on his first day, no one does...really."  
"Would you prefer it be you?" He raised his fist again and Mike then jumped in, "Woah, Anderson. Let's just go. He's learned his lesson."  
Anderson looked about him, glaring, before sniffing. "Fine."

With that, he turned and stalked off, Sally following behind. Mike looked at him, "Uh, hi. Uh..sorry." With more awkward silence, he jogged after them.

John turned to look at Sherlock who was now struggling to sit up, he leaned down and helped him stand up.  
Sherlock gave him a wary look, blood covered the side of his face and a bruise was forming on his forehead where the knee connected. "Why did you do that?"  
"Why did I save your ass you mean?"  
Sherlock merely raised an eyebrow.  
"Because it's what people do. They care for others."  
"I'm not your friend John."  
"I'm not saying you are."  
"I didn't need help."  
"You clearly did."  
"I was _fine_."  
"You really weren't."  
"I _am _fine."  
"And you really aren't."

Sherlock glared daggers at him, "How would you know?"  
He didn't have a answer for that.  
"I told you before to stay away from me, it does no one good if you try and befriend me." He tried to push past. John stopped him.  
"Why not, huh? I'd rather like to judge that for myself if I want to be your friend or not, I think you need one actually."  
"I don't need _friends_."  
"Friends help you, friends watch your back."  
"What like you did? You practically waited until I was being attacked."  
Ah, he noticed.  
"I didn't want to go in if nothing was going to happen."  
"Oh please." Sherlock sneered, trying to push past again.

"I want to help you!" He called after him.  
"Fine, help me by stayng away from me. Make sense?" Sherlock snarled over his shoulder. John sighed and jogged after him, "I can understand why you don't have any friends if you treat everyone this way."  
"Well that's hardly your buissness isn't it?"  
"You never know."  
"No actually, I do know. I don't need you John." He pushed on, making his way to the road and footpath which he followed on.

"Say's who?"  
"Are you going to keep following me? Because I can easily get away."  
"I walk this way anyway, and I doubt that after getting kicked in the gut and forehead."

Sherlock simply snorted before jotting to the side, across the road, over a car and into an alleyway John never really noticed before. All happening in less time for him to call his name.

Sighing, John plodded on home, noticing the dried blood now on his hands from helping Sherlock.

He leaned against the cold brick wall and slid down, his mask finally falling from his face and heart, his breathing was rapid and sharp, heart pumping and head pounding. Pain and darkness was all that mottled his being, he hit the ground and let the tears flow, crying silently, letting it all out until he could focus enough to pull out the small box in his bag.

It was cuchioned black, with a syringe sat in the middle and different needles along the edges with a bottle of the drugs beisde it.

Taking it out and doing the normal routine, he pressed the tip of the syringe needle to the inside of his elbow, finding the vein immediantly after two years of practise, stabbing inwards, he injected the conents of the drug and instantly felt better.

Putting the syringe away and box in his bag in took in deep breaths, calming and thinking everything over and over until it was dull and dry and dust. His new vision and 100% focus mind enahnced his senses as he smiled to himself sheepishly and stood up, hauling his bag over his shoulder once more, dreading going home but not really worrying much at all.

Until he turned the corner after starting up walking again to find a sleek black car waiting on the side of the road for him, with a tall man in a suit and black, neatly cut hair with an umbrella waiting outside, disappointed.

Even with the drugs, his stomach dropped and the thoughts of needing to get away came back once again.

* * *

Sorry for the spelling mistakes, I didn't have time to edit.  
Please review what you think, it helps me to keep writing. :)


	2. Chapter 2

**_I know with the poemy thingy, its out of character. I just had to think of a way for John to know about Sherlock.  
I used lyrics from Soldier, but tweeked up a little. Enjoy, and please review! :)_**

_Summary:_

Caught in the madness. Don't want to be like this. I'm losing my mind

_"We need to talk."_  
_"No, we don't need to."_  
_"Listen to me."_  
_"Get away from me."_  
_"Where else are you going to go? Just get in the car Sherlock."_  
_"No."_  
_"Are we going to do this again? Me finding you doing drugs and then you refusing to go home?"_  
_"Yes."_  
_"Sherlock you need to talk to someone."_  
_"No."_  
_"Just get in the car and we can talk about this-"_  
_"No!"_

Sunlight streamed in through the window as the alarm clock went off on John's bedside table. Groaning he rolled over and smacked the button before opening his eye's slowly. First day of Year 12 completed, next one _to _be completed.

Oh joy.

He wished he could just get out now and join the army. He'd have to talk to his parents about that... There they were thinking he just wanted to be a normal doctor.

Reaching over to his desk without getting up, he picked up his phone and checked for text messages, found two.

_Oi, I heard you saved that Sherlock guy from Anderson, what happened?_  
_Greg_

John snorted, he hardly saved him. In fact, it turned out worse than was meant to happen. Sighing, he scrolled down to the other one.

_Haven't seen you in a while, how's Year 12 at Bart's? Catch up after school?_  
_Seb_

For once in John's life he forgot about Seb, he had moved to another school in Year 11. They were best friends for as long as.

Smiling he replied back with,

_Sure, coffee shop just outside Bart's after school?_  
_John_

Placing his phone down he go up to have a shower.

"You went behind our backs again and used that, that filth_!?" A low voice boomed.  
"Like you'd understand."  
"Oh please, you're going through a phase."_

"We can't move you to another school now, do you understand? You're staying at Barts wether you like it or not. Get a friend, don't start trouble. Is that too much to ask?"  
"I don't have friends."  
"Make one."  
"Why should I?"  
"If you stopped pushing people away, you'd notice there's a young man trying to help you."  
"Stop spying on me at school." With that, Sherlock walked out, slamming the door.

It had started to drizzle by the time John got walking, he went at a fast pace, already being slightly late.

With his eye's cast downwards he didn't notice the tall boy in front of him until too late, they collided and slid against the wet pavement, both hitting the ground in an awkward daze.

John blinked and sat up, looking at the other boy, noticing with a sudden heart pang that it was Sherlock. He got up and offered a hand to the younger.

Sherlock glared at him coldly, getting up on his own accord and brushing down a rather warm looking black coat.

"Sorry." John tried but got an arrogant sniff in response.

Getting a good look at his face, John saw the cut from Anderson's fist wasn't really noticable and the bruise on the forehead was more or less covered by his hair.

Yet that didn't make John feel any better, Sherlock seemed paler than usual, more distant.

"You alright?" The words came out before he could stop them.  
"Fine." An icy reply was snapped back before Sherlock stalked off, coat slightly billowing dramaticlly. Sighing, John jogged up to him, "I really want to help you, I do."  
"Good for you." Sherlock tried walking faster.  
"If you just gave me a chance."  
"People don't give me chances, why should I return the favour?"

"_I _gave you a chance and _I _like you." John yet again said without thinking.

Sherlock stopped in his tracks and look at him, showing no emotion. "You hardly know me."  
"You don't always have to know the person to like them."  
"That's absurd."  
"That's being kind."  
He snorted in response and continued walking, at a slower pace but still striding.

"You're quite different from people, you know. It's fasinating. You're fasinating." John walked beside him and tried to add a cheer to his voice.  
"Are you coming onto me?" A dark eyebrow was raised and bare hands were shoved into the coat pockets.  
John smiled, he was getting somewhere.  
"No. I meant that in a friendy way."  
"A friendy way?"  
"Yes."  
"I'm not even sure that makes sense."

The school gates were visiable now, teens milled around chatting with friends, jogging, picking up fallen books or calling out to people. The whitenoise slowly started to creep in.

First lesson was English, John knew it was probably not likely they had the same class first again. He looked at Sherlock, "How about, you hang out with me after school?"  
This surprised Sherlock even futher, "That's not what people normally say."  
"What do people normally say?"  
"_Piss off_."

He couldn't help it, John laughed, earning a swift glare from the taller boy.

The bell rang just as they entered the gates into school grounds, "I have English too." Sherlock mumbled out as if it were hard.  
"That's a fluke, but alright." John grinned as he led the way among other peers and students to the English classroom, getting there just as everyone was filing in.

Anderson, Sarah and Greg aren't here, John thought with relief, walking the short isle and taking a seat in the middle, by the window. Sherlock hesitated, eye's narrowed before swalling and sitting beside him in the empty spot.

"Good boy." He murmured.  
"Don't make me leave." The deep monotone replied through clenched teeth as if this were all an effort.

The teacher walked in and began to address the class, John was hardly listening until he heard the word 'Poems' and groaned.  
"I know a lot of you dislike Poetry, but you'll have to get over that, be thankfull its freestyle."  
Breaths of relief filled the classroom.  
"But with a topic."  
Groans replaced them, few of the students highfived eachother and grinned. (That'd be me, just had to say that :P )

"The topic is.." The teacher began writing it on the board, "Emotions."  
John raised an eyebrow, how the hell was he to do this?  
"You are to write about that little thing inside of you, that one emotion that stands up against the rest. Paint a picture with your words."  
And there was the deep talk, John zoned out, pulling out his book and pen like most of everyone else, just to get on with it.

He glanced at Sherlock who was now staring down at a blank page, as if in deep thought.

The teacher finished talking and sat down at his desk, going through papers, students started whispering and wondering what the hell to do.

He nudged Sherlock, "You alright?"  
He looked at him slowly, "Why do you keep asking that?"  
"I'm concerned."  
"While I'm flattered, I don't need your concern." His head turned back to look at the blank page.

Changing the topic, John cleared his throat softly, "Got any idea's?"  
"For the poem?"  
"Yeah."  
Instead of a reply, the icy looking eyes flicked back to the page, pale hand fiddling with a pen.

"Right then." John mumbled, turning to his own work.

This is easy. Pick up the pen. Go on.  
No.  
Come on, I know you want to.  
No.  
This is a perfect assignment for you, just do it. Write.  
No.  
You never used to care before- Oh,

Oh. _John. This is about John isn't it?  
Shut up.  
I'm your own head, I don't really think that's possible._

Beside him, John could tell Sherlock was fidgeting, jaw clenched. He wanted to ask the question again but decided against it.

Looking down he sturggled to think of something to write, anything, anything...

What's a nagging feeling I have? John considered.

He wasn't really sad at anything, I mean sure, his sister was turning into an acholholic but it wasn't causing him too much pain, yet. He didn't really have any family issues, apart from the normal occasional fights people can have. No friend issue's, no relationship issues no-

Then it hit him, he risked another glance at the dark haired student beside him and quickly looked back. Sherlock.  
Why did he instantly think of him when the word relationship popped up-  
Oh John, you idiot. You can't seriously be interested in him that way. You hardly know him!

You're an idiot.  
What will people think?

Oh please John, you're gay. Allow it.  
Now I've resorted to fighting with myself, great. John thought bitterly but looked at Sherlock again, who now had the pen poised to write.

He does look quite handsome, with the high cheekbones and the eye's that seem to change colour, the pale skin, the cupid bow lips. Oh the hair, the dark curly hair. That may just be John's favourite part.

Enough fantasising, write.

John sighed and turned back, once again, to his work.

He could see Sherlock finally writing in the corner of his eye, the classroom was silent. Most people had their heads down, either thinking or moving a pen.

The minuites ticked by and he still hadn't written anything, he was more curious as to what, the supposed sociopath, beside him was writing.

His fingers drummed against the desk, now given up on writing. The only thing he'd write about was Sherlock, and no way in hell was he allowing that.

"Oi," John whispered, "You seem to be better at this than me. We should trade and you do mine."  
A roll of the eye's was shown in response and then, "There's no way in hell that's happening John."  
"Aw damn. I wanted to read yours."  
This made Sherlock stiffen beside him and then a slight murmur, "No."  
"Come on, I want to help. I'm not going to judge you."  
It took a while but eventually he sighed and slid his paper over to John. Just as he did so however, the bell went to change classes and Sherlock instantly took this chance to escape. Others followed his lead, but John stayed where he was, captivated by what was written.

Here in the darkness

The middle of nowhere

There's no one in sight

Caught in the madness

Don't want to be like this

I'm losing my mind

Tell me where you are

So I can stop and take a breath

Because nothing's making sense

I just want this to end

Come and get me out of this mess

John took a double take. He knew Sherlock was hurting some what, he didn't exactly realise the depth of it though. Quickly standing up and stuffing it in his pocket he ran out of the classroom, trying to find him.

Students were milling around to their classes, he couldn't find him, he couldn't see him- there! A tall figure in a coat walking fast out of the gates un noticed, John sprinted after him, taking a glance over his shoulder to make sure no one was watching before following Sherlock.

"Sherlock! Sherlock, stop!" He called, feet pounding on the pavement, Sherlock quickly turned into an alleyway as John caught up.  
"I shouldn't have done that. I shouldn't have shown you that. I don't even do that. I don't even write that. I never even do poetry. That's not me. That's out of character." He started to blabble and John caught him by the shoulders as he started stumbling.

"Shh, Sherlock. Its okay."  
"No, its not. Its not."  
"Calm yourself."  
"No, no, no, no." He eventually started sinking down the wall, eye's closed, muttering over and over the same word.  
"Sherlock, I need you to calm down and _breathe,_ you're having a panic attack." John bent down on his knee's, crouching in front of the panicked boy and held him by the shoulders.

He eventually chose to sit beside him instead, trying to think of ways to calm him down. You're supposed to be a doctor, John. You need to be good at these things! Pestering thoughts kept pounding away at his head, he shook them off.

"Sherlock, listen to me. You're safe. No one's going to hear or see you, no one is going to judge you."  
"Yes they will, they will, they will."  
"Who Sherlock? Who will?"  
"Mycroft..." He hissed out a whisper, hands pressing up against his closed eyelids.

"I'm going to take a guess and say he's a relative or a close friend. Just forget about that, okay?...I'm here." He tried awakwardly.

And then Sherlock was hugging him, his long arms wrapping tightly around his shoulders, head nestled into his neck, body softly shuddering with sobs.  
John hesitantly hugged him back, getting comfy.

It was silent for a while, and then..."John." Was whispered.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Thank you so much for the follows and fav. It really helps! I should be updating once a day now, probably more on weekends.  
Please review what you think. :)**_

* * *

_Summary:_

_Wanna see inside your head. What's going on in there? Tell me where you are_

After what seemed like hours, John turned his head, disturbing the finally peaceful Sherlock who was practically on top of him, to reach for his phone.

His backside was cold on the damp bricks, back aching and sore, switching on the screen he nearly dropped it at the time. How bloody long had they been there? He didn't fall asleep did he?

But the groggyness contradticted that, so yes, he thought, I probably did fall asleep. As its nearly school finishing time. Someone had to know my absense...

Sitting up as straight as he could against the wall he tried to dismount Sherlock, "Oi, Sherlock. We have to go." John whispered, the younger boy just mumbled something of no sense.

"Come on, we have to. It's nearly the end of school."  
"...No." A sleep ridden mumble replied.

"Sherlock, I have someone I'm meeting after school, plus I'm going to have to prepare for mum going off at me for "wagging school". They would have informed her."  
"You didn't wag."  
"She won't know that."

Sherlock groaned and sat up, his hair a mess, shirt sleeves rolled up. John got a better look at the cuts and scars, noticing also needle marks, many of their scars. He averted his eye's before Sherlock noticed and stood up, stretching his stiff body, Sherlock joined him.

"I will have to go as well, or Mycroft will come to find me." He said coldly.  
"Is Mycroft your...dad?"  
Sherlock laughed, short and sharp. "He's practically my mother- No, he's my older brother John."

"Righto, so. We should probably go now, the bell's about to go. Better get away before everyone else."

"Alright."

Just as they started walking, John tugged at his sleeve, "Wait, do you want to be able to text me, call me?"

Something passed over Sherlock's face, "I-I'm not sure if that's a good idea John."  
"What, why not? You can have someone to talk to-"  
"No its not you, but Mycroft will probably be monitoring my phone."  
"Why would he do that? _How_?"  
"Lets just say, face-to-face drug dealing isn't the only way." His eye's turned shifty, "And he's pracitcally the British Government, spying a simple phone wouldn't be hard at all."

John was a little taken back by the honesty of it all, "Ah right- Well, who cares? I'm just a friend, for you to chat with. Come on, it'll help."

Sherlock sagged, "Fine." And dug around in his back pocket for his phone, pulling it out and passing it to him for John to type in his number, Sherlock did the same for John.

Once he passed his back, Sherlock tugged his coat collar up and left before John could say anything, frowning, he looked down at the number to find a simple message waiting for him,

_You'd be a good doctor, John. - SH_

He grinned.

_The large door closed behind him almost silently as he turned to hang up his coat in one fluid motion, a figure stepped out into the hallway._  
_"So, you have a friend?"_  
_"Yes."_  
_"No hesitation, interesting."_  
_"Move, Mycroft."_  
_"I believe this will be good for you, drugs and knives aren't the only solution to friends."_  
_"We both know that's hardly the main reason for doing that. Move."_  
_"Why of course."_

_Shooting a glare at the elder brother, Sherlock stalked past._

The city rolled past in the cab's window, smoke and mist, whitenoise and a crowd of people crossing roads or walking across pavement. John took it all in, on his way to the Cafe to meet Sebastion.

He hadn't recieved a text from Sherlock, nor did he expect to really, but...it would have been nice. He was tempted to send, 'You Alright?' But knew he'd just get either a sarcastic comment or a snappy reply.

The cab pulled up on the curve outside the Cafe, John thanked him and paid the driver before clambering out and walking in, the bell jingled a little. Inside it was warm and orangy, giving off a soothing, relaxing glow about it. The smell of coffe, chocolate and biscuits wafted the air, light chatter filled the empty gaps, laughter here and there.

He noticed Seb wans't here yet, so he took the back window seat anyway and waited, pulling out his phone to ponder wether or not he should text Sherlock.

_'Mycroft will probably be monitoring my phone.'_

The words rang out in his head, why should he care? His brother should already know about Sherlock, more than him, what's texting him in a freindly way going to do harm?

Deciding he would text him, he just didn't know what to text. Saying just a plain, Hi or Hey, makes it a little odd. Asking a question maybe, but the only one that popped up was 'You Alright?"

Sighing he fiddled with his phone, he's just a friend, what's wrong with texting a friend?

Finally he punched in the words,

_I'm bored, wanna chat? - John_

He pressed send before he could delete it and sighed, that sounded so _gay_. It was fine, but, oh god. Why was it so hard to come up with an excuse to talk?

Just as he was pocketing his phone, Seb walked in the Cafe and instantly spotted him, waving and jogging over, sliding into his seat. "Hey John! How ya been buddy?"  
"Good, good- I've been _good_. How about you? Anything interesting? Anything new?"  
"Ah, not really. Still studying, not sure what I'll do, maybe something to do with banks."  
"Banks?"  
"Yeah, I like banks."  
"...Right."

"So, what about you? Anything different apart from a doctor?" Sebastion asked as he called for a waiter.

"I'm thinking of joining the army...Army Doctor sounds...good."  
Seb looked at him, startled, "The Army? Jessus, that's a big step."  
"I like big steps."  
"Jees-Wow, alright. Good for you."

The waiter came over and took their orders for hot drinks before leaving, Seb turned back to him, "Alright, apart from the Army and crap, any news friends? Girls? _Guys?_" The emphasis on guys, made John groan. "Oh come on, only teasing."

"Yeah, yeah, sure you are. Uh, no I don't have any new relationships...although.." His mind wandered to Sherlock, what was he doing right now? Was he alright? Why hadn't be texted back? Is he angry, sad? What if he needs his help, he should call him, he should-  
"Joooohn. Earth to John." Seb was waving a hand in front of him face.  
"What- Oh. Sorry. Just...thinking."  
"This new friend must be getting your cogs turning, who is he?"  
"How do you know it's a he?"  
"You're gay, aren't you?"  
"...I hate you."  
"So yes?"  
"Lucky guess."

The waiter came back with their coffee's, John thanked him and took a sip, "Yes, yes he's a he."  
"How old, how tall, what's he like, tell me more John, tell me more." Sebastion leaned forward on the table, hands under his chin. John laughed and swatted at him.  
"He's a little younger, but skipped classes because he's one of those...smart people."  
"Ah, yeah, yeah. Go on, do tell."

He rolled his eye's, "How tall? What question is that, uh, he's quite tall actually, tallest in the class. What's he like? That's not a hard question, he's arrogant, up himself, knowit-all, narcisstic, distant, smart, confident. I suppose."  
"Oh, hot."  
"Shut up Seb."  
"Sorry, go on."

"I don't know, what else do you want?" John took another sip of his coffee, glancing at his pocket, waiting for the phone to vibrate with a message.

"Tell me his name, John. I want to know his name."  
"You're creeping me out."  
"That is the whole point."

"Right-, He's Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes."

"Odd name." Sebastion considered.  
"Odd guy." John agreed, leaning back into his chair.

"So...You got the hots for him?"

"Sebastion!"

It was nearly dark by the time John got home, as soon as he opened the door the words, "John Watson!" Filled the street.

He groaned, "Mum, before you go on a rampage-"  
"You wagged school, John! You wagged school. For what? I thought you were doing good, I thought you liked school because it got you closer to your dreams, why would you wag then? A new friend, perhaps, someone rebel, luring you into things. And then you decide to go off somewhere just to put off coming home!"

His mum was in the hallway, a raging mess. John frowned, "Mum. Calm down and let me explain."  
"Yes, you have explaining to do!"

With that she spun on her heel and walked into the kitchen, he followed, sighing, and sat down on a stool.

"Look, I didn't wag. I have this friend, he's, going through...shit, he left school, he had a panic attack. I followed him because I wanted to help him. Which worked. You never know what he could have done if I didn't, I don't really want to actually know." He paused, "We may have ended up falling asleep in the mess of things and woke up to find it was the end of school, I didn't mean it I swear. And I was meeting up with Seb after school at the Cafe down the road, I'm sorry."

His mum had an O for a mouth, he seemed lost for words. "Uh, alright- That's alright. Your poor friend, how is, how is Seb?"  
"He's good."  
"Right, sorry about that."  
John just grinned, "What's for dinner?"  
"Lasange."

"Cool."

With that, John got up and went to his room to change, just as he was un doing his pants however, his phone buzzed. He tore the phone out of the pocket and looked at the text message.

His stomach dropped.

_This was a mistake, I'm sorry John. - SH_

What? Was all he could think about. What was a mistake? The phone contacts or being friends, or what? Most likely the latter from the dramatic I'm Sorry.

John sighed and sat down, his hands on his head. This was so stupid.

He didn't see or hear Sherlock again for the rest of the week...And the next.


End file.
